Who's yer Daddy? Part #1 - Out of the Wilderness

Glenda heard his swearing commence as soon as the lights went out, the generator he had just given an overhaul must have failed she thought, then worried about the mood it would send him into.

He banged, crashed and cursed his way down the dark stairs, the noise competing with the sounds of the fierce wind slapping tree branches against the house and shaking the windows.The weather matched his temper.

Matt went out the back door, rusty hinges squeaking in protest as a gust kept it from remaining either open or closed. His wife remained inside as he walked to the shed where the generator was kept. He let loose a stream of profanity as the fuel smell hit him first when he opened the door, clicking on his flashlight, he saw the leak immediately. There was a large jagged gash in the tank, sharp points of metal jutting outwards.

"What the fucking hell?"

Something brushed against the back of his legs, the flashlight fell from his hand and illuminated the rotting boards that made up the wall, just enough to see a shadow move, "too big for a rat, too small for a man," he thought to himself as he backed up through the shed door and noticed a different smell, similar to the tree stump he used to decapitate chickens, rabbits,dogs, cats and squirrels.

Giggling came from one shadowy spot and he heard its sweet childlike sound travel, unattached to anything visual in the dancing shadows that seemed everywhere at once. The voice reminding him of flowers and crayons, the little sister from long ago, that never made it to womanhood.

Not that he had bothered waiting, the thought made him glance over in the direction of two small unmarked graves beyond the clearing. The memories lifted a smile to his leathery face, but a sudden sharp pain in the back of his buckling leg made it vanish in an instant.

The giggles almost skipped in a sing-song beat .. staying just outside the reach of the quarter moons dim light as he sunk to the ground... he saw its reflection in the gleaming surface of a descending axe-blade.

"Pottymouth."

The woman inside the house listened to the back door slam over and over before finally getting up the nerve to go near it, she attempted to close it but the wind jerked it from her fingers and sent it slinging against the outside wall. She hesitantly went outside and towards the generator, her feet slid on something thick and slippery that had pooled in front of the shed door, she struggled to regain her footing in the blackish liquid. She saw the flashlight flicker from under the door so she opened it slowly, she heard something crunching, chewing and a small movement in the corner.

It was enough to send her running back in the house to hide beneath the kitchen table. Her scream muted by the constant slamming of the back door and the shattering of windows from wind-battered branches. Something rolled awkwardly inside, only semi-round as it came to a stop inches from her trembling hand.

She screamed again but no sound came out, kind of like how it happens in everyone's worst nightmares.